


Spilling in Your Wake

by aldiara



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Day 2015, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Other, Pre-Canon, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron is lost without Duro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spilling in Your Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompts "Waves," "Cut," and "Mess" on [Drabble Day 2015](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/drabbleday/), respectively.

They’re crammed into the stinking hold of the ship with scores of other captives, Duro still injured from battle. Agron uses half his daily water ration to keep the wound clean.

The journey towards Neapolis seems to last forever. They make endless bad jokes to keep their spirits up and drown out the constant lapping of the waves. 

When they’re finally driven off the ship into the glaring sun of the Republic, Agron grips Duro’s shoulder hard. “Whatever happens, we stay together.”

Duro nods, solemn for once, as though he were five years old again, shadowing Agron’s footsteps everywhere.

“Together.”

~~~

Agron cuts off his twisted braids the minute they stop to make camp that first night. He hacks at them wildly, not caring how precariously close he slices to his scalp. 

Duro mocked him relentlessly when Agron first spilled blood, earning the right to twist his hair. _You look like a mangy hedgehog, brother._ Somehow he failed to realise that once he became a man himself, he’d have to wear his hair the same way. 

Agron failed to protect him. He’s less than a man now: just a ragged thing of rage and agony. He ought to look the part.

~~~

In the weeks after their escape from the ludus, as they try to stay ahead of Glaber’s men, Agron is always the first to throw himself into a fight. He hacks and slashes furiously, chopping Romans into messy bits, and tries to tally.

Not how many he kills. How many it might take to pay their debt. He lines them up with memories: how Duro would sneak into his bed when they were little. The stupid pranks he’d play. The way his chest felt as it stilled.

He keeps adding up the bodies but the numbers never come out right.


End file.
